Brooks-Lotello Collection

by Ronald S. Barak

  It all looked the same to her. Having cross-trained five Ks several times a week, she knew she could maintain her pace for a long time. But the problem wasn’t stamina. It was all the trees and bushes. They slowed her down. Forced her to zig here and zag there.

  She had no idea where she was. Or whether she was going in a straight line. And it was getting darker and colder by the minute. Her pump said 6:30. She wasn’t dressed for this. And she couldn’t run in the dark.

  When she shot out of the house, she had seen the van parked on the road. The one that pulled alongside her when he grabbed her. Her first instincts were to take off down the road, but she heard the man screaming and racing after her. She figured he’d look for her on the road. She thought she could outrun and outlast him on foot if she had any kind of a head start. Especially since she hurt him with the tee and he wasn’t breathing well. But she wouldn’t stand a chance on the road where he could use the van. So she chose to stay off the road. Now she wasn’t sure that had been so smart.

  Everywhere she moved, branches tore and clawed at her. Cutting up her face. She tried to be as quick and quiet as she could. But it wasn’t working. The ground was covered with twigs and leaves that crunched every time she took a step.

  She hoped she was moving away from the cabin. Away from him. And then she heard him. More than once. Nearby. His breathing sounded gross. Gasping and hissing.

  His footsteps crackled even louder than hers. Whenever he seemed to be really close, she crouched down and hid in the bushes. One time, she peered out and actually saw his legs moving past her.

  Less and less light streamed down through the trees. She was thirsty. Tired. Cold. She didn’t seem to be getting any further away from him. She was so scared. Maybe trying to escape hadn’t been such a good idea.

  * * *

  As he ran out of the house, he could barely see or breathe through the Frankenstein mask. He removed and tucked it through his belt.

  He glanced around. Spotted the girl turning off the road into the forest. As best he could, he hobbled after her. His chest was on fire. He couldn’t see much through the trees. He listened instead for rustling branches, twigs cracking underfoot.

  They weren’t that far from the highway. He couldn’t keep up the chase much longer. If she made it to the road she’d be able to flag down a ride. He’d have failed again. Beaten this time by a punk ass little girl. He grimaced.

  Out of nowhere, she practically ran smack into him. Hopefully, before she saw his face without the mask, he raised his left hand through a torrent of pain and slapped her across the side of her head with everything he had left.

  She fell to the ground in a heap. She wasn’t moving.

  If he hadn’t been so incapacitated, the blow probably would have killed her. He wanted to do precisely that, but revenge would have to wait. He needed her alive. For just a few more days.

  With a searing bolt of fire in his chest, he hoisted her up over his left shoulder, opposite his wounded right lung. He headed back in the direction of the cabin.

  She was heavier than she looked. And damn near as tall as he was. He was having difficulty maintaining his balance. He staggered past one tree after another. He was afraid he’d not be able to get the two of them upright again if he slipped and fell. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. He needed to stop and rest, but he didn’t dare.

  After what seemed like forever, and in spite of it all, he finally managed to find his way back to the cabin. Carrying her down the steps to the basement was another matter. Each awkward step sent a jolt of savage pain into his chest.

  One step at a time. Stop. Try to swallow some air. Bite back the pain. Let it fade. Then one more step. And another. Each one more agonizing than the one before.

  He felt his knees weakening. A tremor ran through his thighs. His muscles were beginning to spasm. Looking down the narrow stairwell, he imagined giving in, pitching forward, tumbling the rest of the way. No! Can’t hardly see anymore. Feel forward for the next step. What would Gordon Liddy do? Keep moving!

  He didn’t realize he’d reached the basement until his foot felt solid floor instead of another cumbersome, wobbly step. Stumbling across the floor, he leaned forward, dropped the girl from his shoulder onto the bed, lost his balance, and collapsed smack on top of her.

  He just lay there. Not sure for how long. He couldn’t move.

  Finally, he managed to get back up on his feet. He stared at the girl. She still wasn’t moving. He felt light headed. Like he was about to pass out. What if she comes to before me? He had to lock her in the room, somehow get back upstairs. Before he really did pass out.

  PART THREE

  The Next Day

  CHAPTER 37

  Wednesday, May 7, 6:00 am

  WHITE HOUSE CHIEF OF STAFF MANNY REYES loved his job. Most of the time. He was good at it. And the clout—not to mention the perks—were more than he’d ever imagined. In less than two years, Wall Street would surely come calling for him. With boatloads of money. And very little expected of him in return: just make a few introductions and attend some power lunches and dinners.

  So long as nothing blew up in his face during his remaining White House tenure.

  The problem was his boss, President Roger Tuttle, POTUS, who insisted on micromanaging everything, including Reyes. Tommy Thomas was a good example of how Tuttle could mess things up. And had.

  It had been five years since the Norman fiasco. It was not so much Norman and his explosive trial, as if that weren’t bad enough, but rather the role Thomas had played in it. At Tuttle’s insistence, Thomas had been assigned to keep certain legal theories out of the Norman case. Thomas failed to achieve Tuttle’s goal, and two people ended up dead.

  Unfortunately, Thomas was not one of those two. Fortunately, he had fled the country before he could be captured and interrogated. Had the truth come out, Reyes would have been expected to take the fall for Tuttle. It just went with the job. The Watergate scandal had been Nixon’s doing. But H. R. Haldeman, Nixon’s chief of staff, and other White House lieutenants, had taken the blame for Nixon and gone to jail. Of course, Nixon was still impeached.

  Had the truth surfaced about Thomas, who was to Tuttle as Gordon Liddy was to Nixon, Reyes would certainly have ended up in jail, and Tuttle probably would have been impeached anyway. If Thomas were back, it could still happen.

  Only Tuttle, Reyes and Thomas knew the truth. For five long years, Reyes had waited. And watched. Just when he had finally begun thinking all of this might actually be behind them, Thomas was back. Or so it seemed.

  The voicemail message had been vague. No name had been left. But what Reyes had heard left little doubt. “This time I won’t let you down,” the voice had said. Reyes recognized the attitude, the voice as well. And who else would have anonymously said something like that?

  Let him down? The only way Thomas could not let him down would be if he blew his brains out. Or let them know where he was so they could do it for him.

  He didn’t want to share this with Tuttle. But he had no choice.

  * * *

  Thomas rolled over on his right side and groaned. He was still sore as hell.

  His mind drifted back to the night before. He had managed to get the girl back into the basement and onto the bed. She hadn’t moved. But he had been in no condition to know whether she was really out, or just faking it. He had locked the door and dragged himself back upstairs.

  He had laid down in one of the two main floor bedrooms. Tried to will the pain away. Tried to sleep.

  Five minutes.

  Ten.

  Not happening.

  He had used his phone to check on the girl through the basement ceiling camera. She still wasn’t moving. He shut the camera off.

  He had yelled in frustration. Thinking about what he wanted to do to her.

  But that hadn’t helped either. The pain continued, and was getting worse. He could hardly breathe.

  He struggled outside, hobbled
over to a nearby tree. Leaning into it, he scraped his palms back and forth across the rough bark. Hard. The skin on both of his hands tore open. Gordon Liddy had nothing on him. At least the pain in his hands somewhat masked the pain in his chest.

  He switched on the garden hose sitting on the porch and washed off most of the blood on his hands. Getting this right was crucial.

  * * *

  Jill Webber had been sitting at the kitchen table in her bathrobe for the past two hours. Dazed, exhausted, distraught, sipping on a cup of tea in an unsuccessful attempt to settle her nerves. A line from Kelly Clarkson’s track kept popping into her mind. It played over and over and over. She couldn’t get rid of it. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. They hadn’t killed her. Yet. But Jill definitely wasn’t feeling any stronger. What she did feel like was giving in to her hysteria, screaming as loud as she could.

  The noise from behind had startled her. She spun around and actually did scream: “Jesus, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

  “Wow, sorry, babe,” Mark Webber said. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

  “Well, you were.” She stared at him, shaved and dressed. “Are you going somewhere? Leaving me here by myself? In the middle of all this?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’re all cleaned up.”

  “I didn’t feel like sitting around in my pajamas. We could get a call any minute, have to rush out. We need to be ready. You should get dressed too.”

  “We have things we have to do right here.”

  “Like?”

  “We have to call the school. Call Cassie’s coach. Make up an excuse for why Cassie won’t be in school or at practice today. Before they start wondering.”

  “The two of us? Together? To say she’s under the weather? That’ll look real natural.

  “You should make those calls yourself. But it’s only six. Who’re you going to reach at this hour? What you should do now is have something to eat. And shower. And put on some clothes.”

  “Eat? How do you expect me to eat in the middle of all this?”

  “Jill, this might take days. Are you planning on not eating for days? Who’ll that help? You need to be responsible.”

  He walked into his office off the kitchen. She watched him disappear. Just like him not to understand her. She didn’t have something to eat. She didn’t get dressed. She went into the family room and picked up the phone. But it wasn’t to call the school or Cassie’s coach.

  CHAPTER 38

  Wednesday, May 7, 6:10 am

  CASSIE STIRRED. The side of her face ached. She knew where she was, locked back up in the basement, but she had no idea what time it was. She grabbed her pump and checked. It was the next day after she had been kidnapped. Almost 24 hours had gone by.

  She had the feeling she was being watched. She looked around the room. She didn’t see anyone. She looked at the camera up in the ceiling. The blinking red light from yesterday was dark. Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he’s left me here. To die.

  She took a couple of breaths. Rubbed her cheek. Tried to gather her thoughts. And then it came back to her.

  It had been almost pitch black. She had run right into him. He hit her in the face. And then it was pitch black.

  She had come to, with that monster lying right there on top of her. He seemed like he was dead. Or at least asleep. A complete freak. Right here on top of me! It was all she had been able to do, not to scream. But she was too afraid. She held as still as she could, pretending to be unconscious. Hoping he would wake up, climb off her, leave her alone, go away.

  And then he did. She could see he was in pain. I did that to him? She watched him stumble out of the room. Heard him lock the door and go up the stairs.

  She got up, put some ice from the refrigerator into a towel, laid back down with the cold towel pressed against her throbbing cheek. The next thing she knew, she heard yelling coming from somewhere. He was walking around upstairs. And howling.

  Then he started talking. At first she thought there were two people up there, but then she realized he was talking to himself. Out loud. What kind of head case does that? Sure. Sometimes I talk to myself. But not out loud. Maybe hitting him with that tee was a mistake. She was really scared.

  * * *

  “Morning, Manny. Pilates in five,” the President said, in his sweats. “What’s up?”

  “Good morning, Mr. President. Only need a minute. You remember the former Director of Security at the Committee to Reelect?”

  There was no misinterpreting the look on the President’s face. He remembered. He didn’t answer.

  “Apparently, he’s back, Mr. President. Not sure why, or—”

  “Jesus Christ, Manny! You were supposed to handle this. You don’t understand why he’s back? The imbecile thinks I want the 28th Amendment defeated; that he’s the one to get that done for me. I retire in two years. I’m all set. Why would I burn through any political capital fighting a popular grass roots amendment like this that doesn’t hurt me? I told you to take care of this before. I’m telling you again now. Do not fuck this up!”

  This time it was Reyes who didn’t answer. Tuttle didn’t give him any chance. He stormed out, leaving Reyes standing there.

  * * *

  Sitting at the desk in his home office, Mark had no confidence in Jill’s dad. He might be a capable and respected judge, but he was no match for Mark in the real world. And now Jill was falling apart. Nor could Mark just ignore his responsibilities at the office. He somehow had to seize the initiative.

  He opened the contacts on his laptop. The first call was to one of the members of his work team. He caught him on the way into the office. With everything on their team’s plate at the moment, and in the middle of the school year, he could hardly say the family was heading off on a holiday.

  He explained that he’d come down with a bad stomach bug and had been grounded by his doctor for a few days. He went over what needed to be done in his absence. He never took any sick leave. No one would begrudge him.

  The next call was a little more unusual. And a lot more delicate.

  “Security. Adams.”

  He worked with Adams on his company’s recently escalated counter-terrorism program. Not so much that the board worried about a physical attack on any of their personnel or assets, but rather that hackers might access data on their computers, or shut down their operations altogether.

  He wasn’t ready to go to the FBI yet. But he didn’t know who else to call. Mark had been on the two-man ad hoc committee that had hired Adams. Their families had become friendly. He didn’t know if Adams could help, but at least he thought he could be trusted.

  “Hey, Larry, Mark Webber.”

  “Mark, hey. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Something I can do for you?

  “Actually, there is. I’m hoping you can help me with a problem, a bad one actually. Or that you might know someone who can. It requires some special know-how. And even more discretion.”

  Without hesitation, Adams said, “I getcha. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Mark told Adams everything he knew. Exactly what was going on. Adams listened, occasionally asking a question or two.

  “Let me make a few calls,” Adams said finally. “While you wait to see what your father-in-law comes up with. And while you take care of Jill. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can. May not be until sometime this afternoon. Should I use your cell?”

  “Yeah. It’s on vibrate. Any ring’ll set Jill off. It’ll be wherever I am. Thanks, Larry.”

  Nothing definitive, Mark thought, but at least it was something. And it helped that someone more than Jill’s dad was working on it.

  CHAPTER 39

  Wednesday, May 7, 6:20 am

  RETURNING TO HIS OFFICE, Reyes called the number picked up in the voicemail system. It wasn’t a working number. All the more Thomas’s style.

  * * *

  Recognizing the number on the caller ID, Jill picked up on the first ring. It was
her mom calling her back. “Anything?”

  “Nothing. Your dad had to go to the Courthouse to meet with the other Justices. To keep up appearances. He has his phone and will call the minute he hopefully hears from the kidnappers again.”

  “Mom—”

  “I know, baby, I’m on the way over right now.”

  “No. You’re not supposed to be driving on your heart medicine.”

  “I can drive fine.”

  Jill started to protest further, but her mom had hung up. She was still holding the phone when Mark walked in, looking at her inquisitively.

  “Heard you talking. Any news?”

  “No.” She told him what her mother had said. “She’s on her way over.”

  “I thought she’s not supposed to drive.”

  “I know. I’m going to call the school now. By the way, I received a text a couple minutes ago from Cassie’s friend, Madison. She’s wondering why Cassie’s not getting back to her.”

  “Her dad’s the cop who was nosing around here yesterday?”

  “Yes. I won’t answer her now. Let’s see if we get any news first.”

  “How long ‘til your mom will be here?”

  “Not long.” She looked at him and shook her head. “You could be a little more subtle, you know. As soon as I make my calls, I’ll shower and eat something.”

  They hugged. Tentatively. It was the first time they had touched in 24 hours.

  CHAPTER 40

  Wednesday, May 7, 8:03 am

  ESPOSITO and his team had just started their meeting, reviewing what had transpired in Court the day before and, more importantly, planning and dividing up the work to get ready for the next day. The highest priority was trying to figure out how to reopen the question of the interpretation of Article V.

  Esposito was in a foul mood. He didn’t like being blindsided. Brooks had intentionally omitted from his papers his theory that Article V limited only amendments of the Constitution initiated by the government, not raising the point until after Esposito could no longer counter. He didn’t know what upset him more, that Brooks had come up with such a damn clever interpretation of Article V or how effectively Brooks had outwitted him.